Perspectives
by Lalaithe
Summary: A lot can happen in a day, especially on the Sword Coast. And one young man is beginning to realise that he has a great deal to learn.
1. Hunters of the Sword Coast

_This might be called a spin-off from my long story, A Fragment of Substance, but it should hopefully make sense as a stand alone story. (The characters Finn and Anna have a romantic connection, as you might guess. Everything else is AU Baldur's Gate.) Al__l comments are welcome._

_Rated M for language, violence and sex._

_Credits: All Bioware characters are owned by Bioware. Xan and Kivan inspired by the mods of Kulyok and Domi. Finn and Anna are my own._

...

Finn forced his way through the bushes and let out a curse as a stray branch swatted him in the eye. _Fuck's sake, _he muttered, _where the hells did he go?_

He stood still and the forest seemed to settle around him. All was silent save for a few birds who were a world apart from the melee. Their bright cries decorated the sunlight-dappled trees but at that moment Finn would gladly have twisted all their little necks. He looked around. Still, everywhere was still. On his right was a thick bramble hedge of a mass of twisted thorns. He'd never have made it through there. Ahead of him the hill sloped downwards giving him a clear line of sight. He'd have seen him running. He couldn't have lost him that easily. No, there was only one way left.

To the south the woods were covered in a thick mass of ferns, with their lacy green leaves acting almost like a false floor. Finn lit off, sword still in his grasp, leaping around the fallen bracken that littered the way.

"_He's gone this way!" _he called out to the deaf trees. Finn still couldn't see the bastard but then again he didn't expect to. He ran for a short distance then dropped, throwing his entire body down into the ferns. Then, he waited.

He peered up at the green roof above him, trying hard to calm his breathing enough to listen. He almost felt like laughing though at how stupid it was, that a game he'd played so many times with Imoen back home, before everything—

Finn broke off from his thoughts hearing a distinct rustling a few yards off. Guess he never played the game; too bad for him. He dragged himself from his hiding place with a grunt and ran after the fleeing bandit.

The skinny bastard was fast, though, and unlike himself wasn't weighted down by thirty pounds of chainmail. Finn sheathed his sword and made a push for speed but the bandit wasn't polite enough to slow down. He dashed through the forest like a deer, leaving his pursuer farther and farther behind. _I can't lose him, I can't. You're not getting away from me..._

He glared at the man through heat-blurred eyes, wishing with all his force that he could remember some spell to land him on his face. Suddenly though, as if by answer to an unspoken prayer the man cried out, his body jerking in pain. He collapsed into the ferns and Finn closed the yards in moments.

The bandit tried to rise from his knees, grasping in agony at the missile that had sealed his fate. A single white-shafted arrow had pierced the man's thigh, driving itself right into the muscle at the back of the leg. Finn caught no sight of its owner, but he wasn't much surprised by that either.

_"Gods' sake," _the man rasped. _"Don't."_

"Don't what?" Finn remarked.

The man said nothing else, struggling as he was to breathe through his exertion and pain. He'd lost his weapon somewhere in the chase and if he even had a dagger left there wasn't a sign of it. What a wretch he looked up close; filthy hair, torn clothes, leather armour that looked stitched together from old saddlebags. This was the scourge of the Sword Coast? Finn had seen hobgoblins that would better pass for human.

Yet for all that he couldn't summon any pity. There was no person there, just another target of the hunt. The bandit stared at him with wide eyes, yet eyes that seemed strangely calm. He knew what was coming next. He'd done it himself the gods knew how many times, and now it was his turn.

Finn drew his sword, and without hesitation he stabbed it through the man's neck. His life's blood sprayed out of him, staining the green and Finn's own clothes with red. He fell back with a sick gurgling sound. For a moment he blinked up at the trees, still clinging to life in spite of the river. The bandit never closed those eyes but Finn could feel when his spirit departed from him.

...

Finn took up a soaked rag and wiped the blood from his blade as best he could. He never could stand to sheathe the sword when it was still covered in gore. He tried to tell himself it was for the sake of the blade, but somehow he knew better. The blood was following him, and he could never get it clean.

Behind him the faintest of sounds rustled but he didn't turn around; he knew who was standing there.

"Is it done?" Kivan asked.

The ranger spoke in that level, emotionless tone he'd perfected so well, gazing down at the lifeless husk of bandit. _Is it done? _He could've been talking about anything from roasting a rabbit to digging a latrine. In honesty Finn felt that he'd put more emotion into the latter two. He'd known a few elves in Candlekeep but this one was beyond him.

"Yeah, it's done," Finn replied. "Is he the last of them?"

"I believe so. I counted only seven when they attacked, and if Khalid and Jaheira were swift they should all have been disposed."

Seven souls. Seven more offerings to Kelemvor. They must have earned the attention of the Lord of the Dead by now, Finn thought. Maybe he'd blessed them; it was the only reason he could think of that they could kill so many and still be standing themselves. Either that, or he didn't want anything to do with them.

"That was a clever trick you played, _Ohtar, _but next time you should take to the trees," Kivan said as they left to find the others. "You came near to missing that man when he took flight."

Finn grimaced. "If you had him in your sight you should've taken a shot. It would've saved me a lot of grief."

"I did not wish to take from you the prize of the hunt," the ranger replied.

He glanced back at him; the elf's face was still but he couldn't help but feel there was some twisted sort of humour in the statement.

...

Their little band had scattered in the bandit ambush and it was no small trick to find each other again. Khalid's bird-whistle came through the trees and Finn responded, though he still couldn't mimic a blackbird with such accuracy. It worried Finn somewhat that they scattered so readily but he knew by now that most of them were old hands at fighting. Most of them.

"You all right, flower?"

Finn tried to sound cheerful but Imoen wasn't having any of it.

"Am I all right?" she demanded. "Do I look all right?"

She pulled the makeshift compress away from her cheek, revealing a nasty mark that was quickly turning black. Her little pork-pie face was broad at the best of times but now it looked lopsided and even puffier than usual. Judging from her pout though Imoen's pride was the worst that had taken a beating. Finn squeezed his sister fondly on the shoulder and she swatted him away.

"We took out three," he reported to Khalid. "Did you get yours? Where are the others?"

The elf Xan was crouching next to Imoen, trying in vain to get her to keep the compress in position while she whinged about her injury. He glanced up at Finn with those unsettling enchanter's eyes but said nothing. Why the hells did he always look at him like that? Sometimes he had to fight hard against the urge to punch him right in the face.

"Jaheira is with Anna and Safana," Khalid said. "There are more b-bandits in the trees. I think we k-killed them all, but we cannot be sure."

Everything changed at his words. The forest seemed to shift and Finn felt that animal energy rising again. The hunt wasn't over. Without a word Kivan broke away into the trees and Finn followed after him.

He had learned to track when he joined the guards—part of the Watchers' training involved pursuit through the woods. Candlekeep was surrounded by nothing but wilderness and if a fight ever took them outside the gates they'd need it. It seemed so easy there. Like a hound Finn could follow the signs right to where his comrades were hiding. Every snapped twig, every trace of a heel-mark in the mud always shone bright as day.

He'd laugh and give them a good old ribbing when he sussed them out. The others were never a match for him in anything, just farm lads really. Gods, but he could be a cunt. Out here though, with the blood racing and life or death hanging on a step it was another story entirely. Yet again he found himself thankful that Kivan had no such issues.

They heard Jaheira's cry before they reached them. That woman had lungs to beat any man and her cry wasn't a good sign. Kivan dashed ahead and Finn nearly stumbled to a stop as they came upon the women.

Jaheira was there, crouching down over Anna. Judging by the red marks that pocketed her robe the mage had taken a few hits. Tears were running down her face but she was alive, at least.

"At last," Jaheira breathed. "More bandits struck. We fought them off but they took Safana hostage, hoping to deter pursuit. Gather the others and—"

"There is no time," Kivan interrupted. "Which way did they go?"

"To the west, towards the cliffs. But there are too many—"

"Then they shall soon be less, by Shevarash!" the elf cried out. "Come with me, _Ohtar."_

Kivan fled again into the trees, as usual never giving a thought to his hide. And apparently he'd taken over Finn's natural concern for his own, as well.

"Jaheira, is she all right?" Finn asked.

He looked with concern on the fallen mage. She was hurt bad, he could tell. Her pretty face was twisted in pain and her hair had dirt and twigs ground into it from when she fell. Anna tried to sit up but the druid made her lie back down. A small pile of bloody arrow shafts lay at her side.

"She will be well enough," Jaheira replied. "The bandits deliberately targeted her. Now go, before that fool ranger loses himself entirely!"

Finn bristled slightly at the command—the first words out of that woman's mouth were an order, and she hadn't stopped since. _Are you Gorion's ward? _All right, so it wasn't an order. But coming from her it sure sounded like a demand. He glanced once more at Anna and hurried after Kivan.

...

The elf could have lost him easier than the bandit but he seemed to slacken his pace. Kivan walked hunched over, his ragged green cloak and long black hair sweeping around his body and making him look like some strange animal. The war-paint smeared over his face didn't improve the effect much. Finn had read tales of men who'd lived in the trees so long they became more animal than human, but he never thought to apply that to elves. There was no hint of civilisation in his manner, elvish or otherwise. Now he hunted, and Finn only followed.

"Be silent," his voice called back in a tone that was barely a whisper.

"I am," Finn replied.

"You are not. Your armour makes too much noise."

Again Finn bit his lip. What the hells could he do about that? Strip off and run naked through the trees? That would give the bandits a surprise, all right. It might give Safana one, too.

The little Calishite rogue had been with them for only a short time but she'd exploded into their reserved band like one of those rainbow-coloured missiles the mages conjured to celebrate Midsummer. With her tanned skin and full lips Safana looked every bit the part of some princess of the sands in disguise. She was hunting pirate treasure, or so she said. Judging by the way she winked her eye at everyone with a third leg that wasn't all she was after. Finn couldn't complain though; the entertainment value alone was worth enduring that accent.

Finn's thoughts began to run a little too deep and he forced himself to snap back. How in the hells did this day go downhill so fast? Just another march through the trees. Just about to stop for a nice little picnic lunch when the arrows started flying. He'd almost be willing to cut off his right pinkie finger to be teleported back to that glorified mining pit called Nashkel.

Kivan stopped entirely, crouching down like a cat about to pounce, and Finn with his jangling armour tried to follow suit. He could see no break in the trees but the sound of waves crashing onto the shore tickled his ears. The coast must be near to hand. Louder than the waves though he could plainly hear voices.

"I'm not gonna tell you again woman, get up!" a man barked.

"But I have twisted my ankle! You are such a strong brute—"

Finn recognised that languid Pasha tone, but another man broke in.

"Just leave her, Urick. She ain't worth the money. Them mercenaries are going to be breathing down our necks at any minute!"

"And dammit, I'm going to get something out of this run!" the first man shouted back. "We're almost to the boat. Get up, _now, _or I'll gut you right here!"

"Oh, but surely you would not do _that," _Safana calmly cooed. "You are just too much of a _man."_

Kivan crept away silently through the trees, signalling that he would flank them on the other side. Finn slid forward on his belly and prayed that none of the distracted bandits would look in his direction. Five of them were gathered around the rogue who lay at their feet, clutching lamely at the ankle of her boot. Conveniently her jerkin had managed to unlace itself and her shirt hung open, no doubt giving the bandits a bit of a view. Her dark eyes were wide and she trembled like a maiden for their benefit.

"Are you kidding me?" the second man spoke. "Forget this. We can make up the coin later, but we won't earn a damn thing if we're dead. Leave her."

The other men agreed with the sentiment but Urick whirled on him.

"And who died and made you captain?" he blurted. "You got no say, Gerrus. We're taking this whore and—"

"You serious?" the man exclaimed. "The _captain _fucking died, you twat. His guts are decorating the trees right now if you want to go and have a look. And why don't you, you sad old shite. Me and the boys are leaving."

Urick seemed no happier that Gerrus had trumped him, and Finn tensed as he grabbed Safana roughly by the hair.

_"Now, bitch! Move!"_

He drew out his dagger and Safana's cool facade faltered for one moment, but only one moment. Her hand reached up and Finn's eyes widened as they found a certain spot on Urick's trousers.

"Oh, please, do not hurt me," she said, her voice finding a throaty tremor. "I will give you anything, if only you do not hurt me."

_Fuck's sake, _Finn whispered to himself. This was going literally tits-up. Where the hells was Kivan? The ranger needed to take a shot before he could move—he couldn't take on all the bandits at once, and Safana was likely to get on the receiving end of Urick's dagger at any moment.

The bandit's reaction was not unlike his own though, and Urick stared at the woman as she deftly managed to do apart his trouser laces with a single hand. The other bandits made comments but Finn didn't hear them as a series of elvish arrows at last broke from the trees. He leaped to his feet and charged at the bandit closest to him.

Distracted as they were the attack entirely caught the men off-guard. Safana snatched the dagger from the stunned Urick's hand, and Finn had to turn away as she drove it into the one place she could easily reach. _Poor bastard, _he thought, _nobody deserves that. _The man doubled over in agony and she quickly finished the job, the look on her face telling him all he needed to know about what she really thought of her offer.

...

_Five more souls. _Five more men soon lay dead on the forest floor, food for the scavengers that would come in the night. Would they be the last today, Finn wondered? He'd almost stopped caring. How could he not care? He couldn't imagine what Gorion would say about it. He didn't want to.

Safana broke into his thoughts; the rogue was only slightly less vocal than Jaheira.

"You did take your time," she said, trying to wipe away the blood from her jerkin in disgust. "I thought I would need to lay with these dogs three times over before you arrived."

"What, you wouldn't have really, would you?" Finn asked.

Safana seemed to find the question rather precious, for she merely smiled sweetly at him. Kivan looked towards the coast with a frown.

"One of them mentioned a boat. We should find it and make sure there are no others waiting in ambush."

"I do not think so," she replied. "These men were only smugglers, not grand pirates. I should think you will find their boat a leaking wreck, not worth our time."

"How do you know? Were they talking?" Finn remarked.

"No, dear," Safana smiled again. "But I know their kind well. And you have not even asked me if I am hurt. Such a fine champion you are!"

Finn's mouth twisted into a slight grin in spite of her teasing.

"Very well, then. Are you injured, my lady?" he said, putting on his most formal tone.

"It is too early to tell," she replied. "But you should ask me again later."

She laced up her jerkin but left the tunic open, showing off her smooth, coppery chest for all to see. Or him to see, as Kivan had begun impassively gathering his arrows from the men's bodies. Finn's eyes unwittingly followed the line of her skin down to where the fabric ended in a deep valley. He glanced up somewhat guiltily to see Safana's eyes crinkled up in delight.

...

Somehow their band all managed to find one another in the trees. Anna was pale as a ghost but she was on her feet, still stumbling though over the smallest twigs. Although no one made the remark, Finn gathered that if Jaheira had not been close at hand the mage would have been carrion food as well. He knew it was only a matter of time. They couldn't fight the odds forever; one of them would eventually fall. He thought of that, and it made him angry.

They agreed the bandits' ship needed investigation, so the men ventured towards the cliffs while the women stayed behind. Not for any cause of chivalry's sake, that sort of thing hardly seemed to apply out there. Finn quickly learned that in the wilderness, the men were men and the women were men, too. Or at least they were hairy as the men—certain personal habits apparently didn't apply out there, either, he considered rather grimly.

Khalid and Kivan scouted ahead while Finn and Xan followed behind. Finn would have given a great deal to be a part of the fore party. It wasn't that he hated Xan, exactly—the elf hardly did anything to be worthy of that. Mostly he was silent, reading or watching with those strange grey eyes. But his company could be like some kind of dark void that pulled in everything near it. Finn had tried to break the ice that surrounded him, with little avail. He'd learned though that the enchanter could be an unwitting source of entertainment in his own right.

"You think the ladies will be alright back there?" he asked.

"I am certain," Xan replied, not taking his eyes off the forest ahead.

"Anna took quite a hit," Finn said thoughtfully.

"Yes," the elf sighed. "Unfortunately these rogues know well to strike mages before they can unleash their assault. Though I cannot believe she did not have spells prepared for such an eventuality."

"She's not really a battle mage though, is she?"

Finn thought of Anna. The Beregost mage was rather delicate in appearance but she had the back of a farm girl, carrying her heavy pack without complaint as they trekked the Sword Coast. She had the front of a farm girl too, and he wished to the gods she didn't always wear that high-collared robe.

"That is certainly true," Xan remarked. "She seems little more than a hedgewitch, with a spellbook more designed to conquer gout that the monsters which plague us. But perhaps you should have considered that before inviting her on this mad quest."

The figurative pin stuck in Finn's side and he scowled.

"Aye. I reckon you're more of a proper wizard. All that fighting and you didn't end up with a scratch. What did you do, sit back and let the women run after the bandits?"

"I certainly did no such thing," Xan said coolly. "I teleported out of their range and summoned a gang of gnolls into the battle."

In spite of his frosty tone Finn sensed a hint of defensiveness in his words, and it brought a smile to his lips.

"Aye, and there's your mistake. You should have used the chance to make good with the ladies. Show them you're a proper hero."

"What in heaven are you talking about?" he said, sounding irritated.

"Oh, come on, mate—there's got to be one you've got your eye on. You've got blood in your veins somewhere. Who is it? Jaheira?"

Finn glanced at Xan out of the corner of his eye, hoping his grin wouldn't escape.

"Have you been struck on the head?" the elf exclaimed. "Jaheira is a married woman. And I hardly think—"

"Safana then, eh? She's a little firebrand, keep your toes nice and warm," Finn snickered.

"Absolutely not. That woman is foul beyond—"

"Well, it had better not be my sister!" he proclaimed. "No offence, mate, but I don't much fancy you for a brother-in-law."

"That child?" Xan sputtered. "I sincerely hope you have been injured. I have no intention whatsoever of marrying your sister! And I do not appreciate this bizarre attempt at—"

"You bloody _will_ marry her. We're a traditional sort of family, we are," he quipped. "Ah, of course then. You fancy Anna, don't you? Come on, admit it!"

"I certainly do _not."_

"Oh, aye, I see it now," Finn continued cheerfully, wrapping his arm around the elf's hunched shoulders. "It's all plain as day. All that sniping at her, telling her that her magic's not good enough, all you're doing is hiding that you'd like nothing more than her legs wrapped around your—"

"That is _enough!"_

Xan disentangled himself from Finn's embrace and turned to face him. "Do not complete that sentence."

"—Back? Why, what did you think I was going to say?"

He let out a short laugh, but judging by the expression on the elf's face he wondered if he hadn't pushed his little joke a bit too far. Xan drew a sharp breath.

"It does not matter. What matters is that you would speak in such a gross and disrespectful way about our companions. And one of them your sister, no less. I will hear no more, do you understand?"

"All right, all right," Finn said, feeling rather awkward. "I'm sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood a bit, you know? It's rough out here sometimes."

"And such humour does not lighten it, whatever you may think," the elf replied. "There is little point in making me the butt of jokes in order to cover up your own interests."

"What do you mean?"

"We are not all blind," Xan continued. "You have been leering at Anna since I have been part of this party. And as soon as this Calishite harpy finds her way into our midst you have turned your gaze to her. Which tells me one of two things—either Anna is wiser than she appears, or you are fickle enough to abandon your desire at the merest glance at another woman. And either way I cannot help but think she is better off. Now, by the sound of footsteps I believe our comrades are seeking us, or we are about to come under attack once again. Shall we go meet our fate, or do you have any card tricks you would like to try next?"

Finn clenched his teeth; he'd heard nothing in the trees. The elf was a near foot shorter than he was and slight enough that a strong breeze might carry him off, but he gazed up at him levelly as though he were chastening a rather tall child. Suddenly though a smile formed on Finn's face.

"Sure thing, mate. After you."

He gestured politely and the elf snorted, but turned and walked towards the cliffs.


	2. Low Tide

The trees ceased a short way from the cliffs, no doubt finding the shallow, rocky soil too much for their roots. Beyond their shelter the sea wind took full force and blew Finn's stray hair constantly in his eyes. An old landslide had cleared a sort of path down through the cliff and the four men picked their way towards the beach.

The cliffs far to the north were supposedly white as snow, giving the impression of a blade and earning the coast its name. But with all he'd seen recently Finn found these red rocks more fitting. The wind and waves leeched the minerals from the rugged cliffside, leaving stains that looked like the remnants of some old massacre of giants.

The sea was beautiful that day, though. He'd missed that from Candlekeep as much as an old friend. Broken white clouds sailed over water of darkest blue, with the tall breakers looking tiny from the vantage point of the cliffs. A headland to the south took the brunt of the current and Finn had to watch for a moment as the waves pounded into the rocks, throwing up a violent mist that drifted like fog down the shore.

The small bandit ship bobbed carelessly in the makeshift harbour, and with the tide on retreat she came dangerously near to grounding. Safana was right about their sailing skills, Finn thought.

No men were visible on deck but that didn't mean much, so they splashed quietly as they could towards the listing boat. The waters of the Sword Coast weren't ever balmy but at that time of year the sea was cold enough to take your breath away. Finn's boots quickly filled with the frigid salt water but there was no point in complaining.

The tide hadn't gone out quite far enough and the icy waves were caressing his crotch by the time they reached the ship. They'd not been in the water five minutes and his balls were already numb, he thought irritably. The other lads didn't look to be faring much better—Khalid as the shortest of them virtually had to take to swimming and his lips looked a bit blue.

A rope ladder hung over the side and Kivan took the lead, scrambling out of the freezing water as if he'd been in a nice hot bath. He peered onto the deck and slipped on board without a sound, gesturing for the others to follow.

Khalid and Xan managed to pull themselves out of the drink but when Finn took the ladder the whole craft swayed under the added weight. He wasn't light as an elf, that was for certain. He cursed silently and hoped whoever might be inside would just think it a rogue wave.

Kivan slipped towards the hatch but suddenly stopped—he'd heard something. Like a cat he was, and Finn could've sworn his long ears perked up. The elf fitted an arrow into his bow and pointed it square at the hatch. Finn slowly drew his sword, waiting for whoever would come out.

He heard a click and the hatch opened a crack, but the expected bandit never appeared. A strange squealing noise came from within and the hatch quickly drew shut again.

"What was that?" Finn exclaimed.

It was too dark in there to see but he was sure it wasn't human. Kivan didn't seem interested in reply though and hurried to the hatch, tugging on the iron ring with all his strength.

"It is locked. _Thaurer!" _he swore.

"Damn, the hatchet's back at the camp—" Finn began, but the soaked Xan swept around him.

"I will see to it. Be prepared!"

He raised his dripping arms and water splashed from his sleeves as his hands shaped the air. Xan gestured towards the hatch and Finn heard the sound of the lock falling open. Kivan wasted no time. He threw open the door and dove in without so much as a by-your-leave to anyone else.

"Bloody hells," Finn muttered. "Alright, after him!"

...

He drew a deep breath and leaped down through the hatch. The gods only knew what was waiting for him in there, and he half-expected to see the elf already dead on the floor. But so be it. He hit the deck with a grunt and looked up. The interior light was dim but he could make out Kivan at the other end of the ship, slamming his weight up against a door while cursing something to Shevarash.

"What is it? How many are there?" Finn breathed, but the elf still didn't bother with a reply. He threw himself hard against the door one more time and the latch splintered and gave way.

Kivan burst into the room and Finn followed. It seemed to be a galley of sorts; various provisions and iron pots hung from the ceiling but there was no fire. The whole room had a stink of dog and it made Finn gag. A wide bunk was on one side and he pulled back from the strange bulky shape that was hunched there.

_"Get back elf!" _a deep voice rasped. _"You not touch Ongresh! You not touch Lars!"_

"What the hells?" Finn repeated, though he'd grown accustomed to not getting an answer. He didn't need to see much to confirm his thought that the speaker wasn't human, but what exactly it was he couldn't tell. Or make that what exactly _they _were, for another voice broke through from the bulk.

"Get out of here!" it said, higher and more human than the first. "Get back or Ma's gonna kill you!"

"It will be your death here, beast," Kivan hissed.

He drew out his dagger but Finn suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Hold on, what—is that a _kid? _What the hells are you doing, man?"

Kivan was slender as any elf but like all his kind his frame was deceiving, and Finn needed all his strength to hold him back. Somehow though he managed to pull the ranger out of the room, bumping straight into Khalid and Xan.

"Have you lost your mind?" Finn repeated. "What are you doing? You can't attack a kid!"

"That is no child," Kivan said angrily, yanking his arm away from Finn's grip. "Your eyes may not work in the dark, but your nose surely must. They are beasts, _Ohtar."_

"So they are orcs?" Xan exclaimed. "Corellon, I'd hoped my eyes had deceived me."

Finally the copper dropped. Finn stepped back, pointing his sword into the darkness of the room. The hulk shifted and what could only loosely be described as a person filled the door.

She had to be a woman; her great pendulous breasts hung low, stopping just before the belt of her rough tunic-dress, and her long black hair was braided into numerous plaits decorated with bits of bone and shell. But she was six feet tall if an inch and her green-tinged face was the ugliest thing Finn had ever seen. She looked more pig than woman, but woman she must be. She reached out with a heavy arm and threatened them with a long cook's knife.

"You back. Get back, bad elfs! Ongresh mate is near. He will kill you all and Ongresh will boil your bones for supper!"

"There are others of your foul kind here?" Kivan spat. "Tell us where, beast, so that we may end their lives as well."

The she-orc tossed her head proudly. "No orcs. Ongresh mate is human man. He very strong! He saves Ongresh when she cast out from tribe. He kill her bad brothers! He will kill you too!"

Finn stared at the woman in disbelief—it would take all the ale in the world and more to get him into bed with that. Kivan though just laughed grimly.

"If that is true then your mate is dead. A dozen bandits have just fallen to our hands, and you shall follow them."

The orc's wide mouth opened, but before she could speak the other voice burst out of the room.

_"No! No! _Da's not dead! You're lying!"

A short, stocky figure pushed the woman aside before she could lay a hand on his shoulder. He was a boy of about ten, Finn guessed, and though he looked more human than his dam the lad was clearly the result of a bastard pairing between man and orc. He waved a knife of his own, letting out an impressive barrage of curses before the woman could yank his hair hard enough to get him to stop.

"Back, Lars!" she exclaimed. "Don't touch those nasty elfs!"

"We're not all elves here, lady," Finn said, finally making some effort at diplomacy. "And we don't want to hurt you. Look, we'll just...leave, alright? You and the kid can pull up anchor and go."

The she-orc however didn't seem impressed by his offer.

"Go?" the woman shouted. "Go where? You kill my mate! We all alone now. We have no tribe. Ongresh will kill you! Ongresh will have revenge!"

She stepped forward threateningly while trying to force back the struggling child. Finn stepped back a pace, likewise trying to restrain the enraged elf.

"They attacked us, alright?" he said, the strain causing his own anger to rise. "Some of us came near to dying out there. If they're dead it's their own damn fault. But we don't want to kill you. We can walk away."

"They are not leaving," Kivan growled.

"It is a w-woman and her child," Khalid replied, though his quiet stutter went ignored.

...

Finn could see this wasn't going well, but damned if he knew what to do about it. Either the orc woman or Kivan would start slicing at any moment and that would be it. Fortunately Xan took the initiative.

"Enough of this," he said. "It is time for sleep now. Rest."

Finn barely heard the enchanter speak but he could feel the magic in his words. It was calling out, giving a suggestion that couldn't be ignored. Xan fixed the woman and her child with that strange gaze, speaking to them in level words till they heeded his call. Orc and half-orc collapsed down onto the cabin floor, engulfed in a sleep like the dead.

"That was a wasted effort, _Heruamin," _Kivan said. "You know they must die."

Xan didn't reply, staring down at the sleeping pair with a neutral expression.

"Why are you so intent on killing them?" Finn said, trying to keep his voice from waking the pair. "I don't get it. They haven't done anything to us."

"They are orcs," the elf replied, as if that were all that needed to be said.

Khalid let out a long sigh. "But we can l-leave these two. Enough b-blood have been spilt today. How l-long will your s-spell last, Xan?"

"Long enough for us to clear a distance, if we move swiftly," the enchanter said.

"But we cannot leave them!" Kivan exclaimed. "I will not allow it."

Finn scowled; he was well tired of this conversation.

"And I'm not going to let you kill some sleeping woman and kid, even if they do look like the arse-end of a pig. Don't know what your problem is, but we're leaving."

He tried to put as much authority in his tone as he could, for whatever it was worth to the ranger. Khalid and Jaheira seemed to believe he had some sort of authority in the group, even though they never liked him using it. Kivan's paint-smeared face looked like a devil's but he turned and stormed back out of the hatch.

They splashed back to the shore in silence, leaving the sleeping boat behind them. Finn glanced back as they mounted the rocks; the ship was listing heavily now and would be beached for hours. He tried to think about what the she-orc and her kid would do, but not too much. The whole business of the day had left a bad feeling in his stomach.

"Listen, lads—why don't we not mention this to the ladies?" he remarked. "There's no real need. We can just tell them the ship was empty, and move our camp down the coast for safety."

"Why do you s-say that?" Khalid asked. "What do you fear?"

"Fear?" Finn repeated. The idea unsettled him. "Nothing to do with fear. But Imoen's likely to want to adopt them, and your wife is bound to find something immoral in the whole thing. Besides, like you said...there's been enough doing today. Let's just leave it behind us."

Khalid sighed but he didn't argue; the half-elf looked tired as he felt. He'd taken a fair few knocks of his own in the fighting and was probably just as happy to draw a line under the whole affair. Xan said nothing, sweeping along in his elvish cloak and robe that had already dried on his skin. No soggy wool trousers for him. Kivan gave Finn a dark look but he too said nothing.

They found the women still waiting in the trees. Finn expected a grilling from Jaheira about the ship but thankfully she seemed satisfied with his responses. No, there weren't any supplies worth taking. No loot either, Imoen. Dull as dishwater, let's move on. Finn didn't much enjoy lying; he could almost feel Gorion's eyes on him whenever he told a fib. But in this case he was willing to let it go.

...

The days were growing longer with the approaching summer but at that time of year the sun still found its bed fairly early. Normally Finn was ready to kick his boots off well before their endless slog was done, but that night he kept them moving. Anna still wasn't feeling well though and Jaheira suggested they stop sooner than he'd have liked.

They made camp in a little hollow near the coast. The hill and trees blocked out the wind and gave shelter from anything that might look on them in curiosity. Not that that was a guarantee of a good night's sleep; they'd been roused more than once by some rampaging beast or another, and not the ordinary sort that was afraid of fire.

Finn lost himself in the usual round of setting up camp and their experience with the orc woman fell further into the back of his mind. It was done now. Nothing else they could do. If there was one thing he'd learned since leaving Candlekeep, it was that there wasn't any point in dwelling in the past. You just had to bloody get on with things.

The sun dipped lower and they ate their fill of hardtack and stew. Wood pigeon tonight. Not too bad for game, and the bastards were always fat as grain-fed hens. But Finn gave the roots Jaheira dug up a miss—they were like chewing on old leather, no matter how nourishing they might be. He noticed though that Xan never ate anything but the broth from his, soaking up the thin yellow liquid with bits of rock-hard biscuit. He knew elves didn't eat much but it was little wonder that lad was thin as a miser.

The old dwarf Reevor always said that a man needed three things; meat for muscle, oat porridge for speed and ale for a good time. Lately though Finn found himself lacking in all three. It was hard to march and fight on such lean provisions, and harder still to blot it out with watered-down wine. But though he was leaner now without his three squares in the bunkhouse he actually felt stronger. His muscles were keener, forged by experience rather than dull exercises in the yard.

After eating they broke as usual into their nightly tasks. The mages retreated to their spellbooks, and Jaheira retreated to the trees to commune with Silvanus. With all the work she'd put in that day the druid would need his blessings. Imoen lost the draw for dish duty and sullenly busied herself with scrubbing the wooden bowls down with sand.

Finn normally saw to cleaning his weapons but that night he had something else in mind first. His trousers still hadn't dried from the unexpected bath and he began to feel like he was sitting in a swamp. Unfortunately they were his only pair, so he hoped the women wouldn't think too much of him lounging about in his hose. He fished his spare underclothes from his pack and wandered into the woods to change.

...

_Fucking wet, everything's wet, _he muttered to himself, trying to peel off his damp boots and socks. He'd have blisters tomorrow for certain. He hated the feel of prickly, damp wool stuck to the skin, and wanted nothing more than the weather to warm enough that he could ditch the hose. He hated being in the woods. Nothing but dirt and stink and bugs in your hair. And some people chose to live like this? He'd never thought of himself as soft but he'd have given anything to be back in the bunkhouse right now.

Finn managed to get his trousers halfway down but paused in alarm as the bushes rustled.

_"Oi, _you mind? I'm getting changed back here."

"I am sorry—I never realised you were such a modest man."

_Safana_. Well, it would be.

"Nah, I don't care," he replied, trying to laugh. "It's just your modesty I'm thinking of."

Finn hitched his damp trousers back on and she regarded him with a smile.

"How very kind. You should not concern yourself over me, but I am concerned about you. You all came back soaked to the skin, and we would not want our good strong men catching ill."

"Yeah, well—that's why I'm here," Finn said. "But why are you here? Did you think I needed a hand?"

Safana threw him a strange look and he suddenly began to feel like an idiot. But she sat on the grass and patted the ground beside her.

"No, I think you can manage well enough. But I have a little something which may warm you up."

She presented a small flask for his appraisal. Finn sat down and the spicy warmth of the brandy performed as promised.

"Damn, that's pretty good," he said with a cough. "Where have you been hiding that?"

"Oh, I keep a good many things hidden," Safana replied. "One learns caution in my line of work."

"I'll bet."

He took another swig and passed the flask to her, but Safana set it on the ground between them.

"So where'd you get this treasure map, anyway?" Finn asked, trying to think of something to say. "Not something you're just likely to happen across, I'd wager."

"No, indeed," she said, laughing a little. "It is a rather long tale, but let us just say I stole it from those who stole it first."

"They can't be too pleased," he commented.

"I doubt it. But that is why I move so swiftly through life."

Now that he believed. Safana made herself out to be some sort of swashbuckling lass, and whether or not that was the truth he didn't doubt she worked on the off-side of the law. But as long as she kept her hands off their things he wasn't inclined to let it trouble him. He couldn't much see her deciding to stay and help with their grand crusade against evil.

"I am quite good at finding such things," Safana continued. "It's something of a knack. Things just...fall into my lap."

"I'm sure they do," Finn laughed.

"Why, do you doubt me?" she said, putting on a pout.

"Not at all. Just...never mind."

He shook his head, not really wanting to say his thoughts out loud.

_"Hm. _But have you never thought of such a life? It would be far better for your time than this tiresome pursuit of bandits. Adventure, intrigue, and romance, all waiting for you."

She laid her petite frame down onto the grass, propping up her head on her hand as she looked at him. Finn couldn't help but notice her jerkin had magically loosened again.

"Anything would be a better use of my time than this," he muttered. "But I don't have much choice."

"You _always _have a choice. Freedom is there, but you must reach for it."

Finn scowled slightly at her liberating philosophy. He _didn't _have a choice. The bandits were after him, and he didn't know why. Safana reached over and gently touched his tunic sleeve.

"I do hate to see a handsome man frowning. What is troubling you so? We shall find this treasure tomorrow. Think of it, we will be rich!"

"We, or you?" he said suddenly.

"Both, of course," she replied, somewhat surprised at his response. "An equal share. Do you not think I will keep my promise?"

"Well, I don't reckon you'd have much choice, unless you were to slip away with a bag of holding in the night," Finn said.

Safana laughed. "You must know me well. But not this time."

"And why's that?" Finn said.

"Gold is not the only thing of value here," she replied.

Once again her hand found his arm. She leaned forward slightly, making sure he could get a good view of her treasures. Not bad at that. But Finn unconsciously shifted himself away from her.

"Do you not find me appealing?" Safana murmured. "I should hope you do not find my presence offensive."

"It's not that," Finn began. "Believe me. But I've just...got to change."

It spite of her shapely form he wasn't sure if he wanted it pressed up against him just then. Xan must've been right—he had taken a knock on the head. Safana though just smiled.

"Oh, dear. Perhaps I should have known."

"Known what?"

"Well...you are such a young man, not long from his home, I think? But there is no shame in being a virgin."

"A _what?"_

The words shot out more defensively than he would have liked. Did she really think he'd never had a girl in bed? He was nearly twenty-one years old, and outside the monastery Candlekeep had _some_ signs of life.

"I haven't offended you, have I?" Safana giggled. "I am sorry. Forgive me. I'm certain you have had many conquests."

"Well, not _that _many, but—why'd you think that?" Finn said.

Damn but he could feel his cheeks turning red, like she'd somehow proven his guilt. She didn't believe him, that was obvious. Who was this woman? And why the hells did he care what she thought?

"Oh, nothing," she said, sitting back up. "It is just that you seem rather innocent. Here I am trying to show my appreciation, and you simply take no notice."

"What are you talking about?" Finn replied, still flustered.

"Should it not be obvious? You did save my life today. You risked yourself to save me, a woman you have no ties with. You could have let those men take me away. What would it matter to you? But you did not. Such bravery deserves a reward."

Her hand found his chest. He could feel the heat of it as she gently explored the skin underneath his tunic. Finn took it though and pulled it away.

"Kivan was there too," he said. "Should I go invite him to the party?"

"That grim elf?" Safana laughed slightly. "No, I believe you will do, just fine."

She pulled him down to meet her lips and he felt like pinching himself to see if he was really awake. She was a flirt, but even so... Safana's stray hand found his half-done trouser laces and worked them apart with all the ease of that afternoon. They seemed to constrict under her touch and he groaned and shifted back.

"You don't need to do this. I don't expect—"

Finn could barely get the words out, but they needed to be said. Safana's hand never stopped exploring and she breathed into his neck.

"Why, do you want me to stop?"

...

He didn't answer in words. He felt near to bursting already. All the pain, all the frustration he'd been feeling seemed to promise release in her flesh. That ache in his groin was all that mattered now.

They didn't even manage to get fully undressed. Finn couldn't wait and Safana seemed as near to bursting as him. Her moans drove him on as she clutched at him, digging her little claws into his skin as she ran them up and down his back. He wound his fingers tight in her thick dark hair, pressing hot kisses into her neck. All he wanted, all he could think of in the world was between her legs. Suddenly that feeling rose and he let out a deep groan. One final push, and it was over.

He collapsed onto her in exhaustion. Safana breathed deep, running her hands over him and whispering in that language of the south that he didn't know. Finn rolled over onto his back, his heart pounding in his chest.

"I take back what I said," Safana said, curling up against him. "You are a stallion."

Finn took a sharp, deep breath. He didn't much feel like one. Now that his head was clearing he only felt empty, like he'd shot all his emotion out into that woman's thighs. But dutifully he drew her closer to him.

"You all right?" he managed to say.

He didn't ask if she'd finished; he wasn't so naive as to imagine that. Safana though just cooed over her stallion.

_"Mm, _very much alright. I have not had such a man in a long time. I will not be able to walk for a tenday!"

"We'll have a hard time getting that treasure, then," Finn remarked.

Safana just laughed and continued caressing his chest. Finn shut his eyes. He wondered for a moment if anyone in the camp had heard them. They weren't all that far away. Somehow he didn't much fancy going back to find out.

"We will find the treasure," Safana said quietly. "But I think we have already found some tonight, have we not? It isn't good to be alone, so far out here in the wilderness. One needs someone close, a person they can rely on. Wouldn't you agree?"

He looked down at her to see that she was smiling. She looked tousled and soft with her big brown eyes glittering. Finn managed to smile back.

"Yeah."

"And I think you needed this, too...very much."

Finn looked at her in surprise. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

"Well, there is much more where that came from, my lover. And I can be very generous."

Safana smiled again and laid a kiss on his chest. Maybe he had her wrong, after all. Hells, he'd thought that Anna fancied him, but the more he showed interest the frostier she seemed to get. Maybe he didn't know so much about women as he'd like to think.

They laid together a while longer, as long as they could hope without someone coming to look for them. Safana chatted happily but Finn couldn't manage much of a response. He was too tired. Gods, but he wanted nothing else but to crawl into his bedroll and sleep.

He changed at last into his dry clothes and bundled his wet things into a ball. Safana dressed quickly, slipping her trousers up over her shapely hips. She was one nice-looking woman, Finn had to admit, and he felt rather pleased that she had taken an interest in him. Safana caught his eye and teased him with her boots, bringing the first real smile of the night to his mouth.

They walked arm-in-arm back to the camp, but Finn slipped out of her grasp before they entered the firelight. Finn was strangely relieved that Anna had already retreated to her bedroll. For some reason he wasn't looking forward to looking her in the eye. But why not? If she didn't fancy him, then he didn't fancy her either.

Safana busied herself with brushing her hair but Finn ignored her as he spread his wet clothes before the fire to dry. Jaheira came and stood over him, looking unusually tall and stern.

"You have drawn first watch," was all she said, but Finn felt more in those words than that. It was an accusation from mother.

He groaned again and slipped back into his damp trousers and boots. He took up his blade but left his chainmail where it was; it had broken his back enough for that day. He wrapped his cloak against the growing chill and ventured some way from the camp, ready to wait out a tiring two hours alone.

...

The moon rose and still Finn waited. Normally he wouldn't mind first watch, for it gave him the longest time of uninterrupted sleep before the morning called them on the march again. But tonight he didn't fancy it. The whole of the day began to repeat endlessly in his head and he wished he'd kept hold of Safana's flask of brandy. What the hells was he doing out here? Not two months ago he was home. Not two months ago everything was boring and sane. Not two months ago...

A noise startled him and he jumped to his feet, reaching for his sword. Finn relaxed slightly regarding the shape of a tall elf silhouetted against the moonlight.

_"Fuck me," _Finn muttered. He needed better ears with elves around, that was for sure. "Ey up, Kivan. You on watch now?"

"No," came the answer from under the darkened hood. "And neither are you. Come with me, _Ohtar. _There is something we must do."

Finn let the blade slowly slide back in. He had a bad feeling about those words. But Kivan turned and he knew there wasn't anything he could say. He pulled his cloak tighter and followed the ranger into the trees.


	3. The Lesson

"Who's on guard, then?" Finn said after they'd wandered into the trees.

"It is seen to," Kivan replied, never turning around.

He didn't ask further. He knew he should say something to the ranger but he had a hard time thinking of what. He knew why Kivan had called him out here; the elf's simmering rage hadn't subsided during the afternoon and he disappeared entirely after they'd made camp. Vanishing for hours on end was a trick of his and no one thought to ask where he'd been, but Finn had an inkling. He wondered too why Kivan would call him out on his bloody mission—surely he didn't need any help in that area.

The moon was near the full that night and her light pierced the trees enough that Finn could make out his footing. The ranger kept them heading swiftly back up the coast, never turning around and never saying a word. As they walked though Finn began to grow angry. Did he just assume he'd be willing to help slaughter that orc woman and her kid? Or had he already done the deed and wanted to show off his handiwork?

But they hadn't known Kivan long, and for all he knew he did. He'd quickly shown himself to be merciless with their enemies, subject to neither pity nor plea when their targets had the ability to speak. Finn understood that, for whatever it was worth.

Before leaving Candlekeep the most sentient creature he'd taken down was gibberlings, but feeling a man's flesh on the end of your sword was far different. Seeing the light fading from their eyes... Strange that it should bother him—hadn't he been training for a life as a soldier? But the thought was far easier than the deed no matter how many bandits fell to his blade. Slowly though, slowly he was hardening to the facts. Kill or be killed, that was all you needed to know. And there was no escaping that they came after him_. _After _them. _

Maybe that was where his nightmares were coming from. All his life, Finn never had bad dreams. In fact he could hardly ever remember dreaming at all. But since Gorion's murder they'd plagued him. Strange dreams. Horrid visions filled with blood.

But it didn't justify whatever Kivan had in mind. Orcs they may be, but it couldn't be called anything less than murder. Finn could live with being a killer, a necessity of his continued breathing. But a murderer was another thing entirely. He quickened his pace and caught up with the ranger.

"Kivan, mate—listen. I'm not going to let you do this."

"Do what?" he replied, still not looking at him. Damn, but elves were the worst for that.

"What do you mean, do what?" Finn said irritably. "I know why you've dragged me out here. There's only one thing you could have in mind, and I don't want a part of it. It's not right, whatever you think."

At last the ranger turned to him. "And what is it that you think we are going to do?"

"Kill the orcs," Finn grumbled.

The ranger looked forward again. He kept moving through the forest and Finn struggled to keep by his side. Could he not even answer him? Bloody arrogant elves, a world to themselves. At last Finn stopped in his tracks, and Kivan slowly turned around.

"No, damn it," Finn said. "We're not going to do this. Just let them go. There's going to be plenty more bloody orcs to kill. I'm going back to camp."

Despite his words Finn couldn't help feel he sounded like a spoiled kid just then, not least because he didn't much reckon on his chances of finding his way back to camp alone and in the night. Kivan strode forward, still dark within his hood.

"A lesson, _Ohtar, _that is why we are here. There are things that you must see."

"What things?" Finn demanded.

"If you stand there you will not find out."

...

Finn clenched his teeth; the elf was taking the piss now. _Yes, Master. I don't care if you're a bleeding thousand years older than me,_ he thought, _you're nothing but a prick_.

"But I just don't get it. Why not let them live? They can't hurt us anymore."

His point seemed to have less effect than he'd hoped, for Kivan merely sighed.

"No doubt you think me a very bloodthirsty man. And you would be right, _Ohtar. _But let it be said that I have never raised my arms against another without reason. What do you know of the _orqur?"_

"As much as anyone," Finn sniffed.

Considering Kivan had taken to calling him 'warrior' he didn't like to admit that the first encounter with orcs he'd had outside a book was that afternoon. He was a strong hand with a sword but he knew his practical experience was limited.

"Then you will know of their ways," Kivan continued levelly. "You know how their raiding parties come down from the mountains, slaughtering entire villages in their wake. Elf, human, halfling—they care nothing for life. I have seen it many times. They skin their victims and eat of their living flesh. They rape the women and cut them apart for amusement. Do you know what that is like to see? Your friends, your kin, lying mutilated, sometimes even still alive? I have seen a child ripped from his mother's belly—but of course you know all this. You know as much of orcs as anyone."

The ranger's tone never altered, but his words made Finn flinch.

"Alright, I get it. But that woman must have changed. She was living with a human man, and her son was only a half-orc."

"Half-orcs are worse than their full-blooded kin," Kivan said. "They believe themselves inferior and strive to be twice as cruel to prove their standing. But you should not underestimate that woman's violent heart. Orc women are slaves to their men, but they are devoted. She will have her revenge."

"Shevarash," Finn said quietly.

"What?" Kivan demanded.

"You follow Shevarash, don't you? He's the elven god of revenge. I thought he was almost...outside the Seldarine."

Being raised by monks Finn's education naturally focused a great deal on deities, human and otherwise. And though it had been a long time since he did any real studying, it still piqued his interest the first time he heard the ranger cry out to Shevarash. The Black Archer. The Dark Hunter. Revenge.

"We are a wild race, _Ohtar," _Kivan said quietly. "My kindred elsewhere pretend to enjoy their grand cities, all the trappings of their civilisation, but deep inside we are all the same. Chaos beats within the elven heart. We enjoy wild hunts and wild dance, and we love with great passion. But when we are injured our hearts cry out for revenge with equal force. Shevarash is not outside the Seldarine. They know what power he holds. He is a part of _Tel'Quessir, _our kinsman in blood."

They were silent for a moment. Maybe Kivan was right. But revenge against an entire race? Sometimes Finn thought he would gladly slaughter every bandit on the Sword Coast for what they did to Gorion, for what they tried to do to him. That black fog would rise from his gut, blocking out all reason, all thoughts that were free from the stain of blood. He would have revenge. But then it faded and he was left empty, empty as he was after spilling his seed into Safana's legs. Something needed to take its place. He knew there needed to be more than death.

He had Gorion himself to thank for that. Of all the lessons the old man tried to teach him, that was the one he kept returning to again and again.

_All life is sacred, _he said. _We are infused with a divine spark, the stuff of the gods themselves. The lowest of men is worth more than all the gold and jewels on Toril for he has that brightest of gems within. Never fail to see its value, however hidden and tarnished it may be. For if you do, you surrender a part of your own soul. All things are made by the gods, but life—life is the purest expression of divinity. It is love, pure love. And love is the only weapon against the darkness._

Finn suddenly remembered the old man praying. Six times a day the monks would kneel before the long desks in the Temple of Oghma, asking the Binder for wisdom and understanding. From earliest morning till late at night their days were broken up into perfect parts, the hours of study and other tasks punctuated by the calling of the temple bells. Thankfully Gorion never forced him there that much but twice a day was more than enough. Finn hated it. He hated the empty, echoing temple, the ragged breathing of the ancient monks, the endless silences. He hated the ache in his knees and the little niggling itches that seemed to pop up every time he tried to be still.

But most of all he hated praying for understanding that never seemed to come. It wasn't that he didn't try. He petitioned Oghma will all his heart, all his will—_please please make me wise, _as if the heavens would suddenly open and that little boy would be bathed in the light of knowledge. Gorion had no such troubles. He was the wisest man who ever lived. Finn remembered his ragged old knuckles clenched in prayer. He remembered his solemn grey beard, his light blue eyes heavy with the wrinkles of a sage. Why couldn't Oghma make him like Gorion? But the Binder was wise, and he knew before Finn did that he could never be like him. He could never be good.

...

His mood grew more sour as they marched along, and Finn was glad that Kivan had retreated into silence. He couldn't really blame Oghma for withholding his blessings. It was his own damn fault. He didn't want to study; he'd tear up all those books if given half a chance. He always suspected they couldn't really tell him anything about life, and as recent events proved, he was right.

Too bad there was little joy in triumph. Finn moved into the guards' bunkhouse when he was sixteen and he never looked back. Gorion didn't want him to become a fighter, and they'd argued over it endlessly. In the end Finn won. But he never forgot Gorion's eyes that day—they were sad. Sad as if Finn had taken a ship to the other side of the world. Like he'd lost him forever. How was he to know it would be the other way around?

"Calm yourself, _Ohtar. _Save your anger for when you need it."

Finn jerked as Kivan's voice broke though his reverie. The elf was still walking but he'd pulled his hood down at least, and was looking at him.

"What are you talking about?" Finn snapped.

"I can hear the difference in your steps," Kivan said. "There is anger in them. You treat the earth like an enemy. Walk gently, as if you were on sacred ground. For the earth is always sacred."

Finn snorted at the impromptu moral lesson. Kivan suddenly sounded like Jaheira, or Anna the Chauntean mage. But he forced himself to loosen his stride. He drew a deep breath and looked around. The trees were thinning and the sounds of the surf were stronger. At their pace they must have been near the boat by now.

"Kivan, tell me—why Shevarash?"

The question wanted asking, but he'd never really had the nerve. Besides, it wasn't any of his business. But he felt some bond with the ranger over his god. Revenge. That, he could understand. He knew that drive painfully well. Kivan however just twisted the question around.

"Why? Does it seem strange to you?"

"Well, yeah. Xan worships Corellon Larethian, but I can't imagine anyone choosing Shevarash on a whim."

"And you are saying then that Lord Xan has chosen his patron on a whim?"

"No," Finn replied. "I know why he worships him. But it seems like Rillifane or even Fenmarel Mastrine would be a more obvious choice for you. Just saying."

He'd soaked up some knowledge in his time, at least. But his impressive display of learning still failed to loosen the elf's tongue.

"That is Fenmarel _Mestarine _of which you speak, a god who has long aided my people in our quest for solitude," Kivan remarked. "But silence now. We have reached the cliff."

And so they had. The place looked so different by moonlight that Finn didn't recognise it. With the moon washing over the cliffs it was like being on some alien plane, and the cold light turned everything pale as death. Almost everything. On the beach Finn could see the bright spark of fire, like a red eye in the night.

"Kivan, listen. I'm not going to—" he tried again.

"Come with me," the elf replied. "And be silent."

Finn could do little else; the ranger sure as hells wasn't in a mood to listen. And what could he do now? Fight Kivan to save the orcs? There wasn't an answer.

They picked their way down the rocks, a far more problematic task in moonlight. The wind was still high and the fine sea-spray dampened Finn's face. The tide would be on its way back in now. He knew orcs weren't regarded for their intelligence but he couldn't figure why the woman had made camp on the beach.

After a struggle on Finn's part they made contact with the sand. Large rocks littered the beach, the last stalwarts against an eternity of hammering tides. Kivan moved between them like a shadow and Finn tried to follow. Something was strange, though. That was no ordinary campfire the orc woman had built—the flames licked high into the night, whipped madly by the sea wind.

A great pile of kindling lay at its side. He could see the orc woman and her son crouching over the pile. The woman rose up and gathered a log in her grasp, ready to toss it into the fire. Finn stomach turned though as the log suddenly dangled an arm. That wasn't kindling, after all.

Kivan drew them closer and his heart began to pound. The archer had eyes like a hawk. Two shots, and it would all be over. Could he stop him, even now? Finn wouldn't draw his sword. Maybe that would be enough. They were orcs. Maybe Kivan was right. And there wasn't anything else he could do.

But Kivan never drew his bow. He brought them to rest at a rock barely ten feet from the flames. The elf said nothing, his black eyes gazing out over the fire. Finn crouched down and watched the scene unfold.

The she-orc was naked. Gods be good, she was _naked. _That was something he never wanted to see. Her son was stripped down, too. Their skin seemed to glisten in the firelight. Strips of red. Paint—no, it was blood. The orc woman took up a dagger and Finn flinched watching her carve something into her breast. A rune, a symbol. She raised her arms up to the moon and howled.

Kivan stayed still, watching the scene calmly as could be. What the hells was he waiting for? Did he enjoy watching them suffer? The woman bent down to the pile of bandit-kindling. She must have dragged their bodies down from the woods. Over a dozen of them, no small feat even for an orc. She raised the dagger again, but this time it cut dead flesh. She lifted the offering to the sky, and Finn made an involuntary noise as her huge mouth bit into the dead man's heart.

His stomach turned again as she shared the foul meal with her son. The mutilated bandit's body found the flames and they roared up, sending that horrible stench of burning human flesh to his nose. Then the she-orc carved herself, carving more runes into her bleeding body. She carved her son, and the boy tried hard not to flinch. Her howling voice screamed again to the moon.

Finn lost himself in the horror of the scene, but something familiar kept striking his ears. He knew nothing of the orcish language but he kept hearing a word repeated. Not a word, a name. _Luthic. _The only goddess revered by the orcs, the closest thing their vile pantheon had to a mother. The orc woman was praying, and this was a funeral pyre.

"Was this what you wanted to show me?" Finn whispered to Kivan.

He grew angrier still. What was this meant to prove? The woman was giving those men their last rites in the only way she knew how. Not the send-off he'd have liked, but she had a conscience at least. It was more than they had done when they just left the men's bodies behind for carrion.

"Not this," the elf replied. "Not yet. Watch."

...

Watch he did, though if he lived to be a hundred Finn would wish he hadn't. The feast of blood went on, the flames growing higher with each new offering. The tide was growing closer, he could see the reflection of the fire in the water. The madness had to end.

At last the final bandit fed the flames. The she-orc cried out again to the moon. _Luthic, Luthic. _By chance she turned in the direction of the hiding men. Her ugly face was wet. Maybe it was sweat or blood or sea spray, but Finn could have swore she was crying.

"Come on, mate. Let's get out of here."

His stomach was vibrating. The orc woman must be finished; they needed to leave while she was still distracted. But Kivan didn't move.

"No, _Ohtar. _Not yet."

What the hells was he waiting for? A bow and a flourish? Finn thought the elf was twisted for wanting to kill the pair, but he thought even less of him for revelling in their grief. That was just fucked. He just made up his mind to head back to the cliffs when he froze in horror.

The woman made her son kneel before the flames. The boy followed the command hesitantly—his little pig-face looked afraid. She called out again to Luthic and her dagger raised, poised to strike. Before he knew what he was doing Finn leaped around the rocks, calling out for the woman to stop.

Stop she did, but she whirled on him with all the rage of a mountain beast. Staring at her naked bulk Finn truly began to understand why people feared orcs. She stepped forward and bellowed at him.

"Why you here, man? Ritual not done. Get away! Get away from Ongresh!"

"Me?" Finn panted. "What the hells are _you _doing? You're trying to kill your son?"

The she-orc gnashed her teeth. "No. Ongresh not kill Lars. _You _kill Lars, filthy man! Ongresh mate is dead. We _dead! _We _dead!"_

She repeated the words, beating at her bleeding chest. Finn just stared at her.

"You're not dead. You're alive. You don't need to do this."

"You stupid man," Ongresh declared. "We all alone. We got no tribe, no men to protect us. Lars not a man yet, too weak. We dead! Men hunt us, orc hunt us. Nowhere to go. So we go to Luthic. Great Cave Mother, she takes us. She save us! We not alone then."

"So you're saving yourselves by committing suicide?" Finn exclaimed. "You don't need to do that. You can live."

_"Live," _she sneered. "What life we have now? You stupid man."

"Do not waste your breath, _Ohtar," _Kivan's voice said. "She will not heed you."

He swept out from behind the rocks, dark in his cloak. The appearance of the ranger triggered something in the woman, the blood memory of an ancient feud that ran in the veins of elf and orc. Ongresh howled again, but this time not in grief. Finn knew that sound and he reached for his blade.

_"Beast elf!" _she screamed. "You not enter the Cave Mother's great circle. Ongresh mother a witch! Ongresh know orc magic! Her curse strike you down!"

The she-orc raised her hands, but whether or not there was truth in her claims none of them would know. The lad had remained silent through the exchange but driven by his mother's wrath he charged forward in a fit of blind rage, letting out as loud a cry as his young half-orc lungs could allow. His mother screamed for him to get back but he paid her no heed.

Finn saw him coming. He saw the flash of a blade in his pudgy green hand. A strange, twisted dagger. He saw it was pointed at him. He knew the lad couldn't really hurt him. He was too strong, the boy too weak.

But just at that moment Finn's sword raised. An instinctive movement, but just enough. The lad was moving too fast, he couldn't stop. Finn's eyes screwed up feeling the pressure on the blade. The boy let out a sick gurgling cry, but there was nothing he could do. He felt the boy's hot blood spray over him and the lad slid down to the sand.

The orc woman's screams tore through the night, but Finn couldn't hear them through the rushing sound in his ears. That black fog closed around him, blotting out the moonlight and even the fire. _Blood. _He felt it. He could see his sword, white as the finger of death, dripping now with red. But he couldn't see the body that lay on the sand before him. It had no shape, no meaning. He heard a noise, somewhere, and realised slowly that it was Kivan's bowstring. Finn looked up to see the orc woman falling backwards into the pyre.

He stood still, paralysed as the noise whirled around him. Was it only the sea? He looked up at the moon. It was red. He was sure it was red. _Luthic, Luthic—_the books all called her Blood Moon Witch_. _She'd cursed him.

Finn heard another noise. He saw the elf. Kivan was blacker than night in his cloak, like a bat almost. What was he saying? He didn't know. He couldn't hear. He only heard one voice. The voice in his dreams, in his nightmares—_You will learn._

He felt his feet moving underneath him. He needed to drown out that voice. Finn threw his blade down and it stuck in the sands. He charged into the sea and he felt it roaring around him. It wasn't cold anymore, it was hot—a boiling cauldron. It was red, it was all red. The sea had turned to blood.

He screamed into the night but his cry was drowned by the laughing sea. That ocean of blood was his own making. He knew that now. _Deeper, deeper. _It wanted more. It was the wet place between a woman's thighs, the gaping wound where his blade struck flesh. It wanted more. It wanted _him. _He was drowning in the sea of blood.

_You will learn. You will learn._

_..._

Finn cried out again, and this time it shook him to the core. _That voice—_no, it was another. He leaped to his feet and his hand instinctively found the blade on his hip. All around was black as pitch but somehow he recognised the figure who stood before him.

"Calm yourself, _mellonamin. _You are lost in your dreams."

Slowly Finn lowered his blade. His body was awash in sweat, but he wasn't in the sea. The beach was gone. Dark trees rose up all around him. He had never left the campsite.

He collapsed down onto the forest floor, breathing heavily. His whole body felt strange. It had a newness, an energy he couldn't define. Kivan crouched down next to him.

"I came to relieve your watch and found you wrapped in sleep," the elf said. "I tried to wake you, but your visions held you close. In truth...I feared for you."

That was an admission, Finn thought. He ran a shaking hand through his wet hair and sighed raggedly.

"Don't worry, mate. I've had these before. Just...bad dreams."

"Elves do not normally dream as men, but even I cannot imagine they are so strong," Kivan replied. "Your vision must have been a horrible one."

"Yeah," Finn said quietly.

The two men sat in silence, surrounded by the moonlit forest. Already Finn felt the vision fading from him. The orc woman, her son, the pyre...they all slipped into the night, and he was happy to let them go. All that remained was the blood.

"Kivan, tell me...why Shevarash?"

Finn's throat was raw, but for some reason he forced out the question. Kivan looked at him.

"Why should you ask that?"

"I just...wanted to know."

The elf drew a sharp breath, holding it for a moment against the night air. At last he sighed.

"For revenge. For the blood of a dear one spilled. Blood I allowed to be spilled. Revenge."

"Revenge on who?" Finn whispered hoarsely.

"On the murderers," Kivan replied. "And on myself."

Finn said nothing more. That, he could understand.


End file.
